Enigma
Cold sweat trickled down Yajirobe's face as he stared at the barrel of the gun, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The room felt too still, too quiet, as if the air itself was holding its breath. Appule's smirk widened, his finger tightening on the trigger with agonizing slowness.
Then, in a split second— CRASH!
The silence shattered. The door to the attached toilet exploded outward, sending shards of metal flying. A figure, cloaked and hooded, moved faster than Yajirobe's eyes could follow, a blur of shadows.
A scream tore through the air—Appule's. His eyes bulged in horror as the figure's arm plunged through his abdomen, the pistol clattering to the floor. Blood splattered like ink on the walls, and Yajirobe felt the world spin as the color drained from his face, leaving him pale as death.
The figure withdrew their arm, letting Appule's body slump to the floor like a discarded ragdoll. Without a word, the cloaked figure raised a hand, and with a flick of the wrist, a ki blast hissed from their fingertip, silencing Appule's body forever.
Across the ship, Zarbon froze mid-step, his sharp hearing catching the distant echo of Appule's scream. "What... was that?" His voice was low, tense.
Dodoria's usual bravado faltered, eyes narrowing. "Appule?" The two warriors exchanged a glance, then bolted toward the source of the sound, their footsteps pounding in the halls.
Inside the room, the cloaked figure moved with eerie precision. Before Yajirobe could utter a word, a firm arm snaked around his neck and dragged him toward the shattered toilet door. His mind reeled, limbs heavy with shock. Who was this? Was he being rescued—or taken to an even worse fate?
The figure kicked the door shut behind them with a sharp crack, plunging the room back into stillness. They leapt into the alien toilet with Yajirobe in tow. A sharp gust of cold air hit Yajirobe's face as the wall shimmered—and then vanished. In its place was the vast emptiness of the planet's surface, stretching out like a desolate wasteland.
With a flick of their wrist, the figure blasted the ground below, revealing a dark, hidden tunnel. Without a second thought, they dove in, dragging Yajirobe with them. The entrance sealed itself behind them, the earth shifting back into place as though they had never been there.
Moments later, Zarbon and Dodoria burst into the room, their boots screeching as they skidded to a stop. Their eyes widened in shock. Appule's body lay motionless in a pool of blood, his head reduced to a gruesome mess. The room was thick with the metallic stench of death, but of Yajirobe, there was no trace.
Zarbon's jaw tightened, fury simmering beneath his cool exterior. Dodoria's gaze swept the room, sharp and calculating, his eyes narrowing as a sense of dread settled in. Something had gone terribly wrong.
Then Zarbon's eyes caught something—the shattered door of the toilet, splintered as if blown apart from the inside. His brow furrowed in realization. "He can't have gone far," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Dodoria glanced at the wreckage, a spark of recognition flashing in his eyes. "Damn it," he muttered.
Zarbon didn't waste another second. "Spread the soldiers!" he barked, his voice snapping like a whip. "Find them!"
Hours passed...
Yajirobe's legs burned, his lungs heavy with exhaustion as the figure finally slowed. They had descended into a chamber—a strange, sophisticated room for something hidden underground. Faint, glowing symbols etched into the walls gave off a cold, alien light.
The cloaked figure turned toward Yajirobe, hands rising slowly to the hood. It slid back, revealing a face Yajirobe never expected to see.
His eyes went wide, his mind spinning in disbelief. "No... it can't be!"
Before he could say another word, the rotund swordsman fainted, his body crumpling to the floor.
Frieza's fury was palpable as he listened to Zarbon and Dodoria's report. The icy tyrant sat in his hoverchair, his back rigid and unyielding. "This is a disgrace," he snarled, his voice icy and cutting. "You allowed someone to escape with the prisoner right under your noses!"
Zarbon bowed his head, shame etched into his features.
Frieza's mind raced, calculating the implications of this new variable. "And I assume you didn't verify if Vegeta was truly dead either."
Zarbon's eyes flickered with momentary panic. "He is dead, sire," he asserted with forced confidence. "The beating I gave him ensured his demise."
Frieza turned his head, fixing Zarbon with a cold, sidelong glance. "Are you suggesting I'm mistaken, Zarbon?"
Zarbon's face drained of color. "Of course not, sire," he stammered.
Dodoria, drenched in sweat, watched the exchange with growing anxiety.
Frieza's scowl deepened; he abhorred any loss of control over the situation. "You are both worthless," he growled. "I'll call in the Ginyu Force. Perhaps they'll handle this mess properly."
Zarbon's eyes widened in alarm. "The Ginyu Force? But, sire, isn't that a bit extreme?"
Dodoria swallowed hard, his face paling further. "Yes, sire. The Ginyu Force is... well, they're known for their ruthless efficiency. Are we sure we need them for this?"
Frieza's gaze hardened as he regarded them both, his silence speaking volumes.
Zarbon and Dodoria exchanged worried glances, the weight of Frieza's command setting in.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, in the temporary shelter built by our heroes...
Gohan, Krillin, and Yamcha had just risen from their afternoon prayers. The atmosphere in the small, makeshift shelter was heavy with a sense of desperation. Despite their efforts, Dende's condition showed no signs of improvement. They had even tried to feed him the beans dug up from the planet's soil, only to end up nearly aspirating him. They had saved him again at that time, though barely.
Krillin glanced at his companions, his voice quiet but determined. "Guys," he began, "I think there's one more thing we haven't done yet. "
Yamcha raised a brow, curious. "Huh? What do you mean?"
"A prayer of need," Krillin said softly. "Let's ask God for help in the name of an act we did solely for His sake."
Yamcha blinked, processing Krillin's words before nodding resolutely. "Alright… Let's do it."
The three warriors stood together, facing forwards, their hearts heavy with both hope and uncertainty. A few moments later, after completing their prayer, they knelt down, raising their hands in unison.
Gohan's voice was the first to break the silence, a whisper filled with emotion. "My God, overseer of the universe…" His young eyes softened as a memory surfaced. "There was one day… Dad had gone to the market to sell his produce, and Mom was sick, bedridden." He paused, the image of his mother lying weak in bed flashing before him. "I went outside and milked our goat. When I brought the glass of milk back to her, she had fallen asleep. I knew how hard it had been for her to find rest, so I stood there, waiting. The whole night, I just stood beside her bed with that glass of milk in my hand. I didn't sit because I was afraid I'd fall asleep." Gohan's voice wavered, his hands trembling. "If that act was done to please You, please… please heal Dende. Please save Yajirobe… save all of us." Tears welled up in his eyes, and he buried his face in his hands, silent sobs shaking his body.
Beside him, Yamcha's hands were raised as well. "My Lord," he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability. "O, Lord of the Worlds… You know I once had a neighbor, a beautiful girl I loved with all my heart. But she rejected me." He hesitated, the memory bringing a knot of shame to his throat. "Then, one day, her family lost everything. She came to me, desperate for help, and I… I agreed to give it, but on the condition that she sleep with me." Yamcha's voice cracked with guilt. "That night, she came to my house. She sat beside me, and I was ready to give in to my desires… but then she raised her hand and asked me to fear You, God. I… I trembled. I got up and gave her the money, and told her to leave." His eyes glistened with tears. "O God, I escaped a great sin that night. If I did it out of fear for You, please… we need Your help. We're desperate, Lord… please."
Krillin's voice joined the prayer, his hands trembling. "O Almighty, You know all things, and You know what we're going through. In the days when I was poor, I borrowed money from a friend and traveled to another country to start a business. Years passed, and I became successful—shops, employees, everything I could've asked for. One day, that same friend came to me. He was broke, his clothes in tatters, and he asked for the money he had lent me years ago." Krillin's voice wavered, his heart heavy with the memory. "I gave him everything. Every shop, every cent… I handed it all to him, saying it was his, that I owed him my success. If I did that to please You, my Lord… help us. Save us from this danger."
As the last words of their prayers hung in the air, the three warriors slowly stood, faces etched with quiet solemnity. They gathered around Dende, their hearts filled with belief, their faith unwavering.
A soft sound broke the silence—a small, weak stir. Dende's forehead wrinkled, his tiny body twitching ever so slightly.
Gohan's face lit up, his breath catching. "Guys! Look! He's waking up!"
Yamcha, his anxiety melting into joy, pumped his fist into the air. "Yeah! Alright!"
Krillin let out a joyous laugh, relief washing over him.
Slowly, Dende's eyes fluttered open, his voice barely above a whisper. "W-where am I…?"
The room, once filled with tension and sorrow, now brimmed with a quiet, overwhelming joy. In that moment, hope returned to the hearts of our heroes.
Miles away...
Vegeta gritted his teeth, suppressing a groan as a group of Namekian children tended to his wounds. His body flinched as they applied a traditional antiseptic, the sharp sting searing through him. "Argh!" he gasped, his muscles tensing as the burning sensation spread.
"Just calm down, uncle," Paindu said, his voice soothing but firm. "It'll be over in just a minute."
Vegeta's breath was ragged, his chest heaving. Whatever they were using to clean his wounds, it felt like fire on his skin—unlike anything he had ever experienced.
Between treatments, the children offered him some beans they had dug up from the ground. He chewed them reluctantly, the earthy taste unfamiliar but somehow calming.
Lindu sighed softly as he worked. "If only Dende were with us, you'd be healed much faster."
Vegeta remained silent, his jaw clenched as he winced with each sting. A flicker of frustration passed through his mind—how far had he fallen, reduced to relying on the care of children. He glanced at the young Namekians, their hands steady and determined despite his harsh demeanor. What drove them to help him, he wondered. Why did they persist, even when he barely showed them any gratitude? The thought gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on the pain that reminded him he was still alive.
...
Two more days passed by...
Thankfully, Dende's condition had improved significantly. When he fully regained his senses, the young Namekian advised the others to dig up some special beans from the soil, which they quickly did.
Once Dende was fed a couple of these beans, his unique saliva—a trait passed down through his family—began to work its magic. Almost immediately, his body started to heal, rejuvenating itself until he was completely restored.
"Alright!" Gohan exclaimed, beaming with relief.
"Yes," Krillin added, smiling. "Finally... Dende, you're back to your best."
...
Meanwhile, aboard Frieza's ship...
Frieza sat in his hoverchair, staring out the window, his gaze as cold as the void outside. Behind him, his tail swayed lazily, like a predator at rest. Vegeta's power level hadn't been detected for days—perhaps he truly had perished at Zarbon's hands. But then, who was the mysterious figure that killed Appule and escaped with the prisoner? Frieza's curiosity simmered beneath his icy demeanor.
Without turning, Frieza spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. "Zarbon, use your scouter. Scan for any remaining clusters of power levels. I want everything stripped from this planet before I make it ready for sale."
Zarbon tapped his scouter, the device beeping as it processed numerous signals. Most of them were from the already ravaged cities, only small pockets of old Namekians and children remained—exhausted survivors whose forced labor had helped unearth precious Ragon metal for Frieza's empire.
"Sire," Zarbon reported, his voice steady. "There are a few untouched clusters of power levels left."
Frieza's tail flicked impatiently as his frown deepened. "Then handle it. And Zarbon," he added, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "any failures this time will not be forgiven."
"Yes, sire," Zarbon replied quickly, before hurrying out to carry out the orders. Outside, he encountered Dodoria, and swiftly briefed him.
"So, what's the plan?" Dodoria grunted.
"You take a squad and head for the cluster in the Southwest," Zarbon instructed, his tone all business. "I have a hunch it's those weaklings who slipped past you last time. I'll check the power levels to the East."
Dodoria nodded, his expression hard. "Got it."
Without another word, both soldiers parted ways, hastily gathering their troops. Time was slipping away, and Frieza's patience was stretched thin. Zarbon and Dodoria were each aware of the unspoken truth: if the Ginyu Force arrived, Frieza's reliance on them would plummet, and with it, their chances of survival should they fail their orders.
They had to succeed—failure wasn't an option.
To be continued...